Faceless

“He Chenguan is a freelance hunter, scraping by with a cheetah by his side. We need to look like we’ve been stuck at the bottom of society for years.”

The cheetah’s ears flattened backward, as if it wasn’t too pleased.

“Once we’re inside, keep a low profile. Don’t go zapping things all the time, and definitely don’t casually open space gates.”

The cheetah’s tail swished twice, its expression a little aggrieved.

It had only just learned those new skills and hadn’t gotten to show them off properly yet, and now it had to keep them hidden.

Feeling the power already at the seventh rank and still slowly rising within her, the cheetah silently licked her paw.

Whatever. Follow the master, and there’ll be meat on the table.

The cheetah lay on the ground in a sulk, the tip of its tail flickering with arcs of electricity, fading in and out. Paired with the new purple fur that had just grown in, it looked like an oversized cat brooding in a corner after being scolded by its owner.

Chen Guan ignored her. He still preferred the wild, untamed look the cheetah had when he first met her. Then he opened the system shop.

The system shop interface appeared before his eyes. He scrolled for a moment, then his gaze landed on an item.

【Faceless】

【Anti-surveillance mask: When worn, blocks all perception-type ability detection targeting facial features, including but not limited to mental retrospection, memory comparison, and facial recognition techniques.】

【Note: This item does not change appearance or provide a disguise effect. It only blocks ability-level reading of facial information.】

【Price: 12,000 Popularity Points.】

Chen Guan checked his Popularity Point balance and made the exchange.

A mask appeared in his hand.

Pure white, with the feel of some lightweight porcelain. The edges were unadorned, the surface smooth and patternless—no mouth opening, not even holes where the eyes should be.

A completely blank face.

It looked a bit like the White Tiger’s mask, also white, but the White Tiger’s mask at least had empty eye sockets and a gaping mouth. This one didn’t even bother with those—clean as a blank, unfinished ceramic piece waiting for features to be painted on.

Guess that counts as some kind of corporate culture.

Chen Guan pressed the mask to his face and tried it on.

His vision was unaffected. Looking outward through the mask was as clear as without it, but from the outside, the white face was just a featureless, flat surface.

He turned the mask over and examined it carefully, confirming how to wear it.

This thing didn’t need to be on his face constantly. Its anti-surveillance effect was passive—just carrying it against his body would activate it. The difference was that with simple contact, the effect was weaker; only when worn directly did it achieve complete isolation.

After a moment’s thought, he tucked the mask inside his inner layer, against his chest, and covered it with his regular clothes. From the outside, there was no sign of it at all.

The weakened passive effect was good enough for daily use. It wasn’t like he didn’t know illusion techniques, after all.

Rust Harbor was a place teeming with all kinds of shady characters. Mental-type ability users weren’t unheard of, but most were stragglers and loners.

He wasn’t alone. Even without counting Old Me, he still had the cheetah. With master and servant charging in together, who could possibly stand against them?

Unless he ran into a mental-type above the seventh rank head-on, he had nothing to fear.

And that only applied if he were to face them directly.

What Chen Guan needed to do now wasn’t to fight anyone head-on. It was to blend in, become just another insignificant temporary worker.

He Chenguan didn’t need to stand out.

He just needed to be ordinary enough.

Chen Guan sat on the edge of the bed, fingers tracing the smooth edge of the mask.

Half the identity problem was solved.

His face couldn’t be recognized or linked through ability-based means, but physical identification still required the disguise itself.

In the ID photo the White Tiger had given him, He Chenguan’s hairstyle was longer and messier than his current one, and his whole demeanor more run-down.

That was easy to handle. Not much trouble.

As for the cheetah, he wasn’t too worried about her.

He looked down at the cheetah curled up at his feet.

Fur completely changed in color, violet pupils, purple-tinted arcs of lightning occasionally flickering from her tail tip.

This cheetah was already a far cry from the Lightning Cheetah of two days ago.

No ordinary person would connect a purple-furred mutant cheetah with that coffin-carrying one from Huaqing Academy.

Chen Guan patted the cheetah’s head.

“From tomorrow on, you’ll be called…”

The cheetah looked up at him, ears perked.

“… Little Zi.”

Her tail slapped the ground once, clearly indicating she found the name awful.

Chen Guan glanced at her purple tail swishing back and forth, then thought for a moment. “How about Little Dian?”

The cheetah turned to look at him sidelong, an expression that roughly translated to, “Are you serious?”

“Pick one yourself, then.”

The cheetah lowered her head and scratched at the floor with her front paw twice, as if trying to draw something.

After a couple of scratches, she stopped and looked up again, tail wagging twice.

“What is that you’re drawing? I can’t make it out.”

The cheetah grew a little frustrated and scratched harder this time, leaving faint claw marks on the floor.

Chen Guan stared at the two marks.

A horizontal line, a vertical line, a horizontal line, a vertical line.

“Feng?”

The cheetah shook her head.

“Jing?”

The cheetah’s ear twitched, and she shook her head again, more vigorously this time, as if anxious to take human form right then and there.

“Forget it. You’re a cheetah; don’t force yourself,”

Chen Guan said as he stood up. “Let’s just call you Xiao Zi for now. We’ll settle on a name once we’re in Rust Harbor.”

The cheetah lay flat on the floor, letting out a low whine, clearly expressing deep dissatisfaction with this naming process.

Chen Guan paid her no mind and sat back on the edge of the bed, ready to rest.

…

The next day.

Rust Harbor.

On the platform, the loudspeaker broadcast a garbled announcement of the station arrival, the voice coming through speakers overhead, mixed with static.

This city was too old and too shabby, as if it had been forgotten. There were no teleportation arrays here—it still used trains from long ago.

The exit was small, with two old-fashioned iron lattice gates half-opened. Most of the paint on the doorframes had peeled off, revealing the rusted iron underneath.

Chen Guan pulled his coat collar up a little and lowered his head as he walked through the exit.

No ticket inspector, no security equipment.

The Rust Harbor train station was probably the most slapdash transit hub he’d ever seen. It was less a station and more a large shed with platform functions.

The corrugated steel roof creaked and groaned under the sea breeze, and a few support pillars were plastered with all kinds of ads—bright and gaudy, most of the text already blurred beyond recognition.

As for the square in front of the station, it was barely a patch of open ground, with a potholed cement surface. At the edges, pooled water from some unknown rain had turned a greenish gray, with cigarette butts and plastic bags floating on top.

It felt like a relic from another era compared to the polished and bright Northern City.

Standing outside the exit, Chen Guan looked up at the sky.

Gray and gloomy, with a vaguely oppressive feel.

The roadside bus stop sign stood crookedly at a gap in the sidewalk. On it was a handwritten route map, its handwriting actually clearer than the ads on the station’s pillars.

East District Dock, third stop.

While waiting for the bus, Chen Guan glanced around.

His first impression of Rust Harbor wasn’t decay—it was fatigue.